


say my name, say my name

by crossroadswrite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale's life is tragic but not as tragic as you'd expect, Feral Derek Hale, Gen, Hunters are dicks as usual, Mates, Wolf Derek Hale, some hale family headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In werewolf lore there is a tale, passed down through generations, about the sanctity of the mate bond and how only your mate can bring you back from the brink of madness by naming you.</p>
<p>Derek always knew names were power for creatures like him, he just never knew someone calling his could change his world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say my name, say my name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maiNuoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/gifts).



> ayight so the ever lovely @poetry-protest-pornography on tumblr (and maiNuoire over here) was so kind to write me some bby!derek and stiles happy happy fun times (in their pants) after i begged her and promised i'd write her a fic so HERE IT IS
> 
> (you can read her fic [over here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6667717) it's so gOOD YOU GUYS HONESTLY I'M STILL CRYING)
> 
> i'm so sorry this is so short and probably not at all what you wanted but you mentioned wolf!derek seeking stiles out and kidfic so i just kinda wolf!derek and mates and some hale family headcanons???
> 
> i hope it's good and you like it!
> 
> hella big shoutout to @such-hella over on tumblr who was so kind as to beta this for me, you are the most precious thank you so much

Derek’s grandmother was a woman that demanded respect without even trying.

She’d sit in her armchair where no one else was allowed to sit and watched over her pack, the adults and their life drama, the kids and their blissful ignorance and joy.

Contrary to the other kids in his class, Derek could never boast about how his grandmother knitted sweaters and baked cookies, how she was a _nice little lady with crinkles by her eyes_.

The only thing that would fit his grandmother in what the universal description of what a grandmother should be were the crinkles by her eyes, and those were beaten there by old age.

His grandmother wasn’t the warmest of people either. The only instance in which she showed any kind of affection for any of the younger kids was when she gifted them with a pat on the head for a job well done or when she gathered them around her armchair, that at the time felt more like a throne, and told them werewolf tales.

No one ever hated his grandmother for not being a well of cheeriness and maternal warmth. She had gone through a lot in life, had singlehandedly conquered their land and fought the Argents in what had been one of the major disputes the werewolf community had ever seen. It had cost her her mate and charred the skin of her arms and hands where she had tried to take a burning house apart to get to her husband.

The fire had been infused with wolfsbane. The scars didn’t heal.

So yeah, no one resented her for being the way she was: quiet and judgmental, paranoid, hypervigilant. In fact almost everyone loved and listened to her intently, tried their best to get one of those cherished pats on the head.

Derek, personally, lived for those Friday nights when most of the adults would go out to have date night and grandma was in charge of watching over them. On those nights she liked to gather them around her armchair and tell a story about her life, about the creatures she fought, about the friends she’d made, about the long string of suitors that followed her like lost puppies, about ancient werewolf tales that had been passed down from generation to generation.

There had been one that Derek particularly liked, about a werewolf and his human lover, about the werewolf going feral and about how she, with her love, only had to say his name to bring him back from the brink of madness.

It was a tale that taught them about the importance of mates, how crucial they are for your control and it was a tale that highlighted just how strong his grandmother had been, surviving losing her mate and still having her sanity.

Back then, Derek remembers thinking about how there was always that, even if worse came to worse and he became feral he would have his mate. In his young mind, there was no doubt that he would find his mate and live happily ever after with them.

Now, after watching his first love die in his arms over his eager stupidity and after witnessing his second one burn his family alive, he’s not so sure there are such a thing as mates, he’s not sure he even has one.

He’s not sure he _deserves_ one.

Now, being chased through the woods with a group of trigger happy hunters at his heels, Derek Hale has lost all faith that any of the stories his grandmother used to tell him were actually true, that what she and his grandfather had was nothing more than a great love without anything magical or special about it.

He wonders, briefly, if it really would be that bad to just stop running and let one of them put a gun to his head, he wonders if he would flinch, he wonders if-

Something hits him in the arm and his mind goes fuzzy, three seconds later Derek is kissing the ground, body convulsing as whatever it is they shot him with burns through his veins, makes his bones snap and readjust.

Derek howls as the shift is forced upon him.

“Should we shoot him now?” he faintly hears one of the men that had been chasing him ask.

Derek’s mind goes blank before he hears the answer, but not before he has time to think that _I hope you do_.

«»

He wakes up in a room.

It smells like damp wood and ash and he doesn’t like it.

Derek gets up and snarls, crouching low on the floor, searching frantically for threats through the red haze clouding him.

There’s two heartbeats close by and that’s wrong too. This is _his_ territory and no one has the right to invade it. He must show them, he has to eliminate the threat, show everyone that this is _his_.

Derek prowls forwards, paws quiet over old wood as he approaches the threat, the invaders.

“I think he’s up,” he hears someone say

Derek growls subvocally, sending out a warning sign.

“I don’t think he’s very happy about being up,” the same voice continues.

Derek prowls closer, teeth bared, back arched and tail tucked between his legs. He lets himself growl louder.

One of the invaders is a _wolf_ and that sets Derek on edge more than he had been, cimenting the need to eliminate the threat.

“Stiles get out of here.”

“What? Are you insane, I’m not leaving until-“

Derek approaches them, slowly coming into sight.

He’s strong. This wolf doesn’t smell strong, he smells like a cub.

Derek can take a cub.

“Stiles get out of here,” the wolf urges, showing Derek his fangs and pushing the other heartbeat behind him.

Derek growls louder.

“No! Stop. Scott you can’t fight him are you insane?”

“If I don’t fight him he’s going to eat us both.”

The other heartbeat, not a wolf, just a person, human and fragile, pushes the wolf away and gets in between him and Derek.

He has his back to Derek.

This is the perfect moment, he breathes in, readies himself to leap and tackles him to the floor, growling in the human’s face, ready to go for his throat when his scent invades his nose and all Derek can think is _not him_.

The red haze presses down on him insistently, urging him to _bite down_ , and he tries to fight it as best as he can because _not him_ , _not Stiles_.

“Stop!” Stiles yells, pushing him back.

Derek snarls, struggling to reign himself in.

“ _Derek_ stop!”

Derek stops.

Just like that, as if Stiles had just uttered the magic words, the red haze lifts and he slumps forward, feels his bones shifting and cracking, forcing him out of the full shift. Now that whatever it is the hunters shot him with isn’t binding him, his body is urging to get back to its usual configuration.

Derek groans, punches the floor next to Stiles’ head with a closed fist and grits his teeth through the pain of shifting, panting through it.

There’s a beat of stunned silence when it’s finally done.

“What the hell just happened?” Scott screams.

“Hi, buddy nice to have you back, you’re kind of naked and on top of me,” Stiles says awkwardly, pointedly rolling his eyes upwards so he’s not looking at any part of Derek.

Derek just stares down at him, completely in awe.

“You said my name,” he gasps because Stiles _said_ his name. And he turned back. Like magic, like the ancient stories.

Both of them ignore him.

“Derek, _what the fuck_ ,” Scott demands.

“Seriously buddy if you could get dressed, that’d be great otherwise I won’t be responsible for any situations that may, um, arise.”

It takes another moment of staring before Derek can gather himself up and get off of Stiles, offer a hand up to the boy – _his mate –_ to pull him up.

Stiles takes it gingerly, still looking up at the ceiling.

Derek holds onto his hand for what is probably considered too long, before he can force himself to let go.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Stiles asks, squinting suspiciously at Derek.

“No reason,” Derek mutters, shaking his head as if to dispel the startsruck expression he must be sporting.

Truth is, he has no idea what to do with this new information.

It’s not like he didn’t notice Stiles before, he had. Of course he had, you don’t _know_ Stiles without _noticing_ Stiles.

But here’s the thing: Stiles is young, too young for Derek to think forevers about, too young for Derek to pass the affection he has for him for anything more than some deep rooted sense of duty and maybe brotherly protection.

And now here he stands, looking at the only boy he’ll love for the rest of his life probably, his mate, his companion, still too young, too full of life.

Derek sighs, tiny and almost imperceptible, adjusting his world view in one single breath.

He can’t very much say he feels an overwhelming need to press this boy up against a wall and ravish him, but he knows he will, when time comes and Stiles matures, when he can see him as more than one stupid kid getting in too deep.

But for now-

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and glares at them, “What are you two idiots doing here?”

Stiles and Scott startle in different degrees of indignation before they both start telling Derek to fuck off in their own special way.

For now, he’ll do this.

**Author's Note:**

> *flaps hand vaguely towards fic* idk man mates and feral derek are pretty cool


End file.
